Kids and Monsters
by Winter Poppy
Summary: [FF6] He was like a child, this one; his world, a massive playground inhabited by tin soldiers and toy chocobos and porcelain dolls. Someone like him could not purposely be evil. Children have no sense of right and wrong. Neither do monsters. Pre-game. Character study. Consensual Kefka/Terra.


Thanks to Kogamitsu from DA for her support, suggestions and proof-reading.

Thanks to my beta 0o Moon Calf o0 for thoroughgoing proof-reading, suggestions and patience.

**Warnings:** Mild suggestive themes.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVI. Square does.

* * *

"What's the point? I really, I don't—"

"Humour me."

An innocent little smile. But it was not. Not when she considered what was behind that smile. She wasn't going to convince him otherwise. If her initial protests were tolerated, it was because they had only added to the fun—a kind of foreplay before the inexorable climax. She had to. If she didn't, he would do it for her, but she knew he would insist forever until he got his way.

"If you blow up the armour, the old man will be pissed."

Terra shook her head, trying to concentrate despite the internal qualms echoing deep inside it. Magic was within reach of her fingertips, floating in the warm, heavy air that encircled her body. She need only apply the proper formula and it would bend to her will, inciting the combustion of the elements. She need only collect the energy, need only redirect it to the target, cast the spell…

"Wait, wait. Found a better one."

Kefka's voice broke her concentration. "There, to the commander's left." He gestured excitedly, his pointed finger wiggling before her nose. "See which?"

She was not eager to do this, but if she had to, she would rather be finished with it as soon as possible. Terra turned her eyes to Kefka and then followed the direction of his finger: beyond the bullet-proof glass of the cabin, to the platoon of soldiers dispersed across the training yard aboard Magitek Armour.

From atop the observation tower, they'd both been overseeing the daily exercises of Kefka's troops. As General of the Order and the first anointed Magitek Knight, he had the Imperial Magitek Division under his charge. Terra herself was a member of the Elite Corps, a select group even among Magitek Knights that answered directly to their general. They were regarded as the cream of the Empire, and followed a private training regimen that allowed little contact with the rest of the fighting forces.

Kefka had invited her to the tower that morning, all smiles and curtsies, to witness the powerful display of the new Armour prototypes—an improvement over the ones deployed in the recent conquest of Tzen. It was an invitation that any Imperial Soldier would've considered a great honour. Terra knew better, though. She knew that there was a hidden intention behind every one of his smiles, but the more time went by, the harder it became for her to guess those intentions. She could only be certain that they were never good ones.

She sighed under his pressure, and her attention shifted automatically from one designated target to the other. The one that Kefka was pointing at now had just blown a practice target with a Thunder Beam, and had taken off his helmet to wipe away the metal splinters that had stuck in the visor.

"That one, didn't you hear me?" Kefka repeated impatiently after her. Terra looked at him once more, watching as he bit his fist in nervous excitement. His eyes were fixed perpetually ahead, knowing with giddy pleasure that his private little show was about to begin.

"Why this one?" she asked. It did not matter: a dead man was a dead man. She would not be able to sleep that night anyway.

"Look closely at him."

Mounted on the cockpit, the boy manoeuvred the exo-suit in a rotating motion, his helmet still resting on the control panel. He was young, as young as the others, and one of their men. At that moment, he was preparing for a new round, positioning his Armour to face the new target appointed by his CO.

"What's with him?"

Kefka laughed again, an especially mischievous kind of giggle.

"He's a Tzenian."

Terra blinked, returning to look at the Tzenian soldier. He was nodding to the officer as his eyes trailed back toward the row of targets, arranged a good thirty metres away from them.

"How do you know?"

"His haircut," Kefka replied simply.

Fringes of brown hair combed down over his forehead, but as he turned, she saw the sides and back of his scalp were almost completely shaved. Terra hadn't had contact with enough people from Tzen to tell them apart at a glance, but Kefka had to know better—after all, he had been the one in charge of the recent conquest (and destruction) of their homeland.

A number of soldiers from the extinct kingdom (which had now become yet another province in the growing Gestahlian Empire) had been conscripted into the Imperial ranks, but most of them were used as cannon fodder in the usual skirmishes with rebel factions. The few who survived with honours never went further than the auxiliary forces. The Magitek Armour Division was a privilege reserved for Vector citizens, trained in their military schools and anointed as Magitek Knights in a solemn ceremony wherein they pledged allegiance to the flag.

"Why is a Tzenian serving in the Magitek Division?"

The boy took a moment to adjust the buckles on his helmet. Now he was an Imperial Soldier as much as the others, without the distinctive haircut that betrayed his birthplace.

"Was he anointed?"

"Who cares? Just kill him. Burn him to death!"

Terra nodded, heaving a sigh. Kefka moved ahead of her position to lean on the glass with eager anticipation.

"Hey, Tee," he dragged her attention back to him. "What do a Tzenian soldier and a cheap toy have in common?"

"…what?"

He chuckled. "They are both disposable and easily breakable—but you can still have plenty of fun with them."

Terra sucked in a breath, nervously. Kefka's frame had seized her vision, his blonde hair lighter beneath the sunbeams, his back outlined by a halo of clear daylight. Her interlaced fingers began to tremble and, to regain her concentration, she had to close eyes. As she shaped the spell in her mind, calling forth the dance of the elements, she heard Kefka anxiously muttering 'c'mon, c'mon, c'mon' under his breath.

_Focus, focus…_

Like gunshots, she snapped those eyes open again—eyes that burned with resolve as they embraced her target.

_Focus!_

Flames broke out beneath her sultry gaze.

"YES!" Kefka shouted as he gleefully slammed his fist against the glass. He was laughing.

The Tzenian boy had jumped off his Armour, head crashing on the fall, but his body was still moving, dragging the flames with him. His commander was shouting orders to the soldiers who had rushed ahead as they caught sight of the incident; those who reacted first were already pushing past among the bulk of officer was now leaning at a safe distance from the burning soldier, waving his hands in an usually reassuring gesture as he kept talking to the boy. His subordinate, however, just screamed and rolled and rolled and rolled.

Terra looked away, unable to keep watching. At least from the cabin she couldn't hear the screams now, though she knew she was going to in her dreams.

"Humph, they won't make it in time."

Kefka's voice broke through the silence, and she wasn't able to tell how much time had elapsed when her eyes opened again to reality.

Returning her gaze to the yard, she saw one of the soldiers had manoeuvred an Armour towards his burning comrade, intent on casting a Healing Force upon him. Seconds, it couldn't have been more than seconds. If she had had better control over her magic, if the spell had been stronger, the Tzenian boy wouldn't have had to spend those seconds in hell.

"Aaand dead." A little click seized her attention, and she noted with astonishment that Kefka was holding a stopwatch. "Nineteen seconds, huh? That's about the average service life for Tzenian toys."

Terra clenched fists to the sides of her body, unable to bring herself to react any further. If she did, she would have to strangle him.

_But you were the one who killed him_, an inner voice reminded her. _You pulled the trigger. The boy is dead because of you._

Kefka was her superior. She was bound by oath to obey him, even if she should continue to hear that voice: the one that kept repeating the word 'murderer' in her head.

_Murderer_... That was what she had become. Killing enemy soldiers in combat was an altogether different matter. There, it was the law of war—kill or be killed—but what she had just done was beyond excuse.

"Now tell me that wasn't fun." For the first time, Kefka had taken his eyes off the death scene to address her.

Terra felt dizzy and slumped down in her seat, fingers pressing on throbbing temples. Kefka stared down at her, a smile of delight still dancing on his lips.

_I was following orders. _

"Something the matter?"

"My head…"

_A soldier's duty is to obey, no matter what. A soldier is not entitled to think, only do._

Theatrically, Kefka raised a hand to his mouth. "A headache? Oh, the horror!"

_I am an Imperial Soldier, anointed Magitek Knight of the Elite Corps, and General Kefka Palazzo is my direct superior. I acted out of duty. _

Kefka's smile widened, reaching his eyes as he gently fixed them on her.

"Fear not, Tiny-tee! Little old me will make the pain go away."

Terra shook her head, burying it in her hands.

_I acted out of duty. _

Kefka slid a hand into his robe, groping one of its inside pockets. Terra just looked askance at him, narrowing her eyes. The sun had absorbed his figure, his smile beaming down at her.

"Have you ever heard of something called a 'potion'?" His hand emerged from the robe with a glass ampoule, bringing it closer to her face as he squatted before her seat. "I've been told they work magic."

Terra did not answer. Kefka began to slowly unscrew the lid, never taking his eyes off her. As he touched the glass to her lips, as he lifted her face to compel her to drink, Terra finally looked back at him. Kefka's thumb slid down her cheek while she downed the potion without breaking eye contact.

_No, that was not the only reason. _

Reasons didn't matter. She had killed a comrade.

"And Professor Cid agreed that it was an exceptionally ill-timed malfunction. Such a pity!"

How many days had passed? For Terra, it had been a long night's dream: the scene from a tragedy re-enacted again and again before her eyes and in her head. On the same stage. By the same actors. And she as the sole, horror-struck audience. Suddenly, it seemed to her as if she had just woken up to Kefka's voice, and the weight of a reality as oppressive and shapeless as her nightmares.

Since his arrival, she had stood in the same spot, quiet and motionless, only her eyes revealing the barest hint of emotion as they trailed Kefka's heated pace across her bedroom. His sprightly footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet and his giggles echoed between flower-patterned walls and heavy tapestries, booming like sirens in her ears. She had dismissed her chambermaid, sure to have enough company that night.

Kefka had been talking non-stop, exhilaration distilling in every word as he gloated about how he had gotten away with his scheme. Terra had the impression that, had the truth been revealed, he still would've cared not one bit. During the course of the past days, he hadn't shown the slightest sign of concern.

When he was in a bad mood, he kept pacing restlessly from one side to another, biting nails and fingertips and throwing curses to whoever came to mind. However, as she watched him prancing around, as joyful as a child who had just gotten a new toy, she wondered if these rare outbursts of cheerfulness were not more unsettling than those angry fits to which she had grown accustomed.

"A power overload, most certainly. Your Majesty is aware that Magitek is still under development, and the techs from the research crew are not able to predict with flawless accuracy how a raw, unstable force like magic will react to every specific conditionality. This would be a case in point, where it was combined with mechanical engineering."

Kefka was definitely having a ball as he impersonated Professor Cid during his audience with the emperor. The incident had grabbed the attention of Gestahl himself, always concerned about the successful implementation of what was proving to be his trump card in the southern continent's conquest. As one of his trusted generals and himself an icon of the new technology, Kefka had been there present as well. Even in such a gruesome topic, she couldn't help but marvel at him as he reproduced the entire exchange word by word, down to the typical voice inflections and nervous coughs of the scientist.

"Those are almost opposite power sources coming together, and we can realistically expect that, when forced to work in conjunction, it may trigger a sort of 'conflict of interest' in the heart of the machine."

Kefka turned towards her as he emphasised his last words with finger quotes. In another situation, that would have made her smile, but right now she just felt like running away.

"A pity indeed, professor." Now he was impersonating the emperor, faking the jaded, overly-solemn tone he used when audiences were beginning to take too long. "But can you give surety that this kind of accidents are not prone to being repeated?"

Kefka gave a little jump in place, bringing a fist to his chin while crafting a brief coughing fit. "U-upon my word, your Majesty. We have analysed the remaining suits with extreme caution and concluded that this ill-fated incident was an isolated event and that the deployment of Magitek Armour is completely safe for our soldiers."

Kefka feigned a yawn, pale fingers covering his mouth before waving off imperiously in the air. Terra would've wished the gesture to be really aimed at her, but Kefka certainly had other plans. His feet were leading his body in languorous steps towards hers.

"Now that we have dismissed the good professor from our gracious presence…" His own voice again, playfully hoarse through smiling lips. "I propose that we indulge ourselves in frivolous entertainment."

Terra let his arms encircle her, pale and rigid as a statue.

_I am an Imperial Soldier. I am to obey. _

A silken whisper grazed her ears as her nightgown had just been discarded, and Kefka's hands began to make their way through her skin, their rough touch replacing the warm caress of satin.

_I am not to question. I am to comply. _

Terra closed her eyes as she sighed shakily.

_But I—_

Her thoughts were cut short when she felt a sudden tremor shaking the walls. Startled, she scanned the surroundings, her eyes stinging under a thick drizzle of gravel as she searched for the source.

"What was that?" She scrubbed her face, fingers slipping in a residue of dust and cinder. Alarmed, she looked around, a loud clangour shaking the room a second time. "Kefka," she muttered, but he didn't respond, his mouth too busy kissing her neck, hands tracing the shape of her shoulders and down her chest. A new tremor, something had exploded near them and she saw dust and debris sparkling in golden light. She shuddered, trying to shake Kefka off her. He let out a little grunt of complaint, his lips buried in her skin. "Kefka!"

Her eyes widened in bewilderment when she saw the metal hulk of a Magitek Armour blasting through the room, straight at them, its open chest plate ignited by the glow of magical energy. It was going to shoot, and they were in its sights. "Kefka!" she called out again, shaking him desperately, but he didn't move, he didn't stop touching her, walking deft fingers and tongue leisurely over her body. Terra screamed as the blazing wave broke in their direction, and a blinding light engulfed the room.

When she opened her eyes again, the walls of her bedroom were gone and she found herself standing alone in a massive open space. Kefka was nowhere to be seen, she realised as she gazed around, looking for any clue as to where she was. And how. And why.

A burning sensation drew her attention to her own body and she found herself wrapped in a spiral of incandescent smoke. Crackling remnants of flames scattered across the floor and the wind made them twist and dance. Wind? Sunlight hit directly in her eyes as she looked up and, spread along the concrete floor, she saw outlined the daunting silhouette of a tower. The observation tower, she breathed in realisation. And the cabin was at the top, two figures standing inside, blurred by the sunrays that impacted directly on the glass.

Terra gasped. She was not alone. She could sense the heavy advance of machinery rumbling ever closer on the ground and her body shivered in return. Someone shouted 'Fire!' and Terra gaped in horror as she faced the relentless loom of Magitek Armour, their exo-legs slamming onto the ground, marking each step with a boom and a new shiver down her spine. A gigantic, monstrous shadow hovered over her, overcoming the sunlight. Terra glanced up. The pilot was high up on the cockpit, all too high up and clouded by dark. She felt so small compared to the machine. So insignificant. A mere spot on the floor. The roaring blare forced her to cover her ears. There was a shrill buzz of steam pipes filling up the engine, and darkness was lit with the flare of Magitek flames.

Terra realised that the screams in her ears were not her own, and when she was engulfed by fire in a violent and suffocating hell, it was not her body that she saw burning. Someone laughed in the distance. She could distinguish the sound reaching over the deafening roar of the flames and knew it came from the observation tower: a voice howling with chilling joyfulness.

_BURN TO DEATH!  
_

Terra was thrown backwards, driven by the shock of the blazing wave… but when she expected the shattering pain of skull crushing against hard pavement, her head was received instead by the gentle caress of silk and feather pillows.

Her eyes opened up to the darkness of her bedroom. A dream, just a dream. She was sweating and shaking, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. Shadows had swallowed the contours of walls and furniture, the room melted in a timeless, grey-black vacuum. Screams echoed in her head and her nose was filled with the stench of charred flesh, and choking smoke, and human ashes. No, it hadn't been just a dream. She still felt the bitter taste in her dry throat, aching for water.

As she sat up, she noticed something moving down from her belly and let out a short gasp, startled by the unexpected contact. Still flurried, she picked up Kefka's arm that had fallen on her lap and moved it next to his own body. He was so noiseless when he slept, she thought, bringing a hand to her chest to calm the frenzied heartbeat; for a moment, she had managed to forget his presence. As soon as she moved her arm, a sharp stinging sensation spread through the side of her body. Carefully she lifted up the sheets. With detached interest, Terra let her fingertips slide silkily across the fresh scars, appreciating the burning ache that reawakened where Kefka's nails had dug in. That part had been real.

A murmur of sheets drove her attention back to him; her eyes that had begun to slowly adjust to darkness captured Kefka's instinctive movement to replace his arm in a more comfortable position. Sighing, she got out of bed, reaching for the floor with bare feet and digging into the soft, thick carpeting.

Kefka hadn't moved from his position when she returned to his side, leaving a half-drunk water glass on the nearest piece of furniture. She spent unconscious minutes studying his figure, outlined in the dim light, until she lied back beside him. A healing spell soothed her scars and the energy drain was enough to send her back to her dreams.

Terra didn't want to go back there—god knew she didn't!—but her feet would not answer to her will. Her steps engaged in Kefka's pull as he drew her up with him, hand in hand, as they ran like little kids to their playground. Before them stood an endless row of stairs, and their feet went up climbing rhythmically: step by step, jump after jump—two pairs of boots signalling each footstep with metal on metal jingles. Terra looked up and noticed that the stairway converged into a foggy emptiness of steel and shadows—and it was the same again and again! In every curve they turned, in every path they took, the stairs kept looming up and they kept jumping and climbing into the nothingness.

Terra found herself overcome by a growing sense of unreality: as if reality had melted with her dreams—as if past had begun to devour present and pursue her all the way through those never-ending staircases. Kefka's hand firmly pressed on hers, nails digging into skin, bony fingers squeezing and bruising. She followed after him without looking back.

When her eyes were wounded by soft, budding light, the realisation suddenly hit Terra. The observation tower lay ahead, with its privileged view to the scene of her nightmares. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to watch again. It was enough to relive it every night in her dreams, but she was beginning to sense the voices—the screams!—the stench of death!—the fire!

Kefka pushed himself aside to let her in, a hand to his chest in a playful curtsy. He was like a child, this one; his world, a massive playground inhabited by tin soldiers and toy chocobos and porcelain dolls. Someone like him could not purposely be evil. Children have no sense of right and wrong.

_Neither do monsters. _

Controlling her anxiety, Terra walked into shielded walls and beeping monitors, eyes half-lidded to protect her from the sunbeams that bombarded the room through the thick glass panel. An inviting leather seat welcomed her to the large gazebo, a control panel lighting up in a feast of shiny buttons and screens that captured and reflected the invading daylight like colourful mirrors.

"After you," Kefka invited, undoing the curtsy to perch on the seat beside hers.

Outside, Imperial Soldiers diligently carried out their daily exercises, Magitek Armour making cement squeak under their monstrous exo-limbs. Terra could almost hear it all: the cracks and creaks of metal joints and the crash of thunder and the roar of fire. Her head started to spin and she had to hold it up on one hand. Kefka regarded her intently from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, don't tell me it's another headache."

Terra shook her head, summoning up her willpower to straighten against the leather back, her heart beating too close to her throat. The soldiers were riding and manoeuvring their exo-suits in a melange of shouts and murmurs, metal clangs and magic blasts. Magitek Armour lumbered across the training yard, human noise and machine blare already embedded in her mind and weighing in her head—rolling and screaming and rolling.

"They don't seem quite as diligent today, do they?" Kefka grinned. "Perhaps I should give them a wake-up call."

When he attempted to switch the loudspeaker on, Terra stopped him, her hand steady on his, pushing it back. Their eyes met, fervour in hers, amusement in his.

"Why, Kefka?"

"Why? She asks." Kefka returned her a seemingly puzzled look. "Shouldn't I encourage our dutiful soldiers to work to the best of their ability?"

Terra sighed, withdrawing her hand. "They are doing fine."

"Why yes, but fine is not good enough!" He chuckled, his hand still aiming for the speaker control. "Maybe it was good enough for the Tzenians, but see how they all ended up."

Terra's heart skipped a beat. How they had all ended up… Dead for the Empire. Dead in the war. Dead by his hands. And by hers too— the sticky, fresh blood of one of their own still soaking her hands.

_One of ours. One of us. _

If only he had not taken off his helmet right then and there…

_Then it would have been another in his place. Someone would have died by your hand either way. _

It was true, but perhaps if the boy had never left his homeland—if he had not been forced at sword point to serve under the imperial flag, if he had managed to flee and join the rebels instead—then she wouldn't have had to take his life in her hands. Not unjustly. Not without reason. It would've only taken a last minute twist of fate—the split of a second that can distort future into unthinkable paradoxes. If his fate was to die by her sword, it would've been in legitimate battle: life for life, kill or be killed, an act of self-preservation perfectly framed by the rules of war. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might have been: to push her sword and target the flames toward an enemy thirsting for her blood. She granted herself to savour the sweet freedom of that impossible dream—to revive a hope already dead and withered. And she smiled. Before Kefka's intrigued eyes, she smiled.

And he smiled too.

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot." Kefka's fingers finally drew away from the switch, tracing a dismissive wave in the air. "It happens that the Tzenian boy wasn't actually from Tzen."

Terra's smile withered away.

"He'd been serving in Tzen with the occupation force before being transferred back to Vector. I bet that tasteless haircut was his widow's idea." He captured a strand of blonde hair that had strayed from his headdress and swiftly brushed it back with his fingers. "She's from Tzen and, since he had no living relatives, they delivered his sword and ashes to her—which reminds me! You know what my men used to joke about after our victory in Tzen?" He started to laugh. "They said that all we'd left there were old men, children and widows."

He had known it all along. He had known it from the moment he pointed his finger at the boy. There was no way he couldn't have known. She should have realised at that moment: no Tzenian would have ever been admitted in the Magitek Division. To kill one of their own—a fellow Vectorian. A comrade! To push her further past the line between necessity and crime… that had been Kefka's plan from the very start. She hadn't been cheated. She'd just decided to deceive herself.

As Terra wasn't laughing at the joke, Kefka snorted, disgruntled. "Widows rather than plain women, you know, because we killed all their men in battle. Therefore all the grown women previously married to said men became widows." He lowered his voice, sulking. "Of course, there were some who weren't married, but that made for another joke about my troops leading Tzenian virgins to extinction. You aren't laughing anyway, so it doesn't matter."

Terra was too horrified to laugh. She had not only killed a man, she had killed a loyal citizen of Vector. An anointed knight. A fellow soldier who would have fought with her shoulder to shoulder, who would have given his life for her sake, who would have shed his last drop of blood on the Empire's behalf. She had killed one of their own, an Imperial Soldier through and through.

_A life is a life. It doesn't make any difference. _

People died for many reasons every day. Accidents happened. Plagues, diseases, natural disasters, anything. There was no way to avoid it. Death was a natural consequence of life, the inevitable final act.

_There's blood in your hands. An innocent's blood._

War took many lives. In the end, no one deserved to die. Those were the rules of the game: someone had to lose, someone had to pay the price for the victories of others.

_You killed him for no reason. You murdered him to please Kefka! _

She shook her head. She didn't want to admit it, but there was no way to deny that her act had no valid excuse—no rationale, no meaning. She pressed her lips together. They were shaking. She was shaking. She started up as she felt Kefka's hand on her forehead.

"Not a fever, it seems," he said as he groped his own forehead. Then he smirked. "Though I still find you rather hot."

"What?"

Too horrified to react to his playful flattery.

Kefka tsked, seemingly offended. "Your constant headaches have me concerned, dear."

Terra sighed. "I'm fine…"

Kefka waved a finger. "I told you: fine is not good enough."

Terra didn't answer. Kefka narrowed his gaze, eyeing her in silence. Not long after, a new, prankish grin blossomed upon his lips.

"Alright, let's pretend I'm the doctor and you are my patient." He straightened his back, crossed his legs, and pressed the bridge of his nose as if adjusting a pair of glasses. "Good morning, Miss Branford. Please take a seat."

Terra blinked, mystified.

"I've been notified by your commanding officer that you have not been eating properly as of late."

Terra averted her gaze. "…I didn't feel like it."

"Bad Miss Branford! Bad!" Kefka shook his head. "I've also heard tell that you have not been sleeping well."

She heaved a sigh. She'd wake up in the dead of night, haunted by a trail of fire-tinged nightmares—and when she started to scream Kefka would have to calm her down by force.

"Your commanding officer has also noticed that you have been distracted during training sessions, and that your performance has decreased significantly in the course of the past days. He has also pointed out that your performance in bed has decreased even further. Consequently, I've been entrusted with his sincere concerns in hopes I would help this untoward situation."

Terra gave him an uncertain look. Kefka tilted his head to one side, staring gravely at her. "I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Miss Branford. It appears that you have caught a virus."

Terra's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"A virus, Miss Branford." He let out a heartfelt sigh. "It has always been sort of endemic among our troops, this virus. As of now it has become the main cause of low performance, indiscipline and desertion in the last ten years or so. I'm not citing official statistics, mind you, but you understand that this is a very dangerous virus."

Terra looked at him, unable to decide whether he was joking or dead serious. His tone didn't seem to sway in either direction.

"It usually starts with headaches, fatigue, loss of appetite, various sleep disorders. Then it grows worse—awfully worse. Perceptual distortions are not uncommon: like hearing voices, for example, little voices whispering in your head."

Terra's eyes widened. Her lips had begun to tremble again and she pressed them hard, biting the insides.

"This virus spreads through your whole system till you can almost perceive of it with all five of your senses. It gets inside your dreams, twisting them into nightmares, and it grows so horribly that one day you won't be able to even look at yourself in the mirror."

Terra lowered her eyes sadly. "…why?"

"Because..." He made a purposefully dramatic pause. "Because every time you take a look in the mirror, you'll see a dead man staring right into your eyes."

Terra lifted up her face to him, his eyes mirroring her reflection. Fire suddenly erupted in those eyes, a whirlwind of blistering flames and a human body twisting inside. She gasped, and quickly looked away.

"But there is no need to worry, Miss Branford. Dangerous as it is, there is a known cure for this virus—and if you allow me, I shall provide you with a completely free sample."

He got to his feet, turning his back to her. Terra noticed how he stood still for a moment as he was about to take a step, and how his fist tightened at his side. Beyond all his acting and his pretended good spirits, he appeared tense, concerned. She'd never seen him genuinely concerned—not like this. She felt a gnawing void swelling in her chest: a crippling sense of anxiety. A foreboding, she asserted. Something bad was about to happen.

Kefka glanced at her over his shoulder, and Terra noticed how he was forcing the smile back to his lips. It was for her, to reassure her. He had been watching her all the time—all too thoughtful as he studied her every reaction, her responses, and lack of thereof. And she had chosen to ignore the signs.

Terra shook her head, trying to quench her growing fears. "Kefka, I—"

"Fear not, Tiny-tee," he cut her off, and she instantly knew that his playfulness was feigned. "Little old me will make the pain go away."

A characteristic sound of machinery being operated alerted her attention to the surroundings: rustle of levers and clang of metal and whistle of steam. When she tried to stand, she staggered, noticing too late that the floor under her feet had begun to rise. And as she straightened up, she saw the glass panel began to retract upwards, gushes of warm, dusty air rushing inside the cabin. Now she could clearly hear the shouts and the sound of Magitek Armour. Now she could smell the burnt metal and oil and ashes tainting the wind.

As she stood facing the open views of the training yard, strayed curls of hair caressing her face and sunlight weighing on her eyelids, she heard Kefka's footsteps drumming towards her.

"Fifty soldiers," he said in her ear. "The best of the best. The cream of the crop, as they say." He chuckled, cool breath humming on her skin. "All fifty graduated with honours from the Imperial Military School. All fifty, Vector citizens who had pledged allegiance to the flag. All fifty, anointed Magitek Knights." He kissed her cheek, and the next was a whisper: "And all for you, my dear."

Terra was aware of the push, but as he had caught her off guard, her body didn't react until it crashed against the hard seatback. Kefka had lifted her all the way up in a single motion. Terra took hold of the armrests to propel herself up as her feet sought the ground beneath without success. But Kefka was faster. With his own body, he blocked her efforts to rise—almost crushing her back down, and groping the side of the seat with a hand as the other struggled with difficulty against Terra's onslaughts.

"What are you doing, Kefka!? Let go!"

When his hand found what he was looking for, Kefka stopped struggling. Instead, he straightened to observe with lewd satisfaction as metal rings popped out from the armrests to capture Terra's wrists. She tried to sneak them off her hands, but the rings kept closing around her until the heavy pressure dug straight into her flesh. Kefka was laughing no more, but breathing heavily through grinning lips. Leaning over her, he raised her face with one hand.

"Don't worry, Miss Branford. This is all part of your treatment."

Terra tried to shake off the caress of his thumb, but was distracted by a new wave of pain as she realised that her ankles were being shackled to the seat, her leather boots sorely clutched to her skin.

"Kefka, why are you doing this?"

He wasn't listening. He was too busy inspecting the state of her restraints.

"I must beg your pardon for the rather aggressive approach to treatment, but if we don't stop the infection in its initial stages, it could prove fatal. And of course you don't want to die, Miss Branford, do you?" He turned to her, a feverish glow lighting up his eyes. "Consider yourself lucky, as the treatment for this virus is not included in military health care, and left untreated it can result in serious complications."

"Kefka, please, stop this."

"If not treated in time, this virus may develop into the most deadly of diseases. Do you know what disease I'm taking about, Miss Branford?" He brought his face to hers, his tone dropping to an ominous whisper. "In my field, it's called treason, and once it infects a host, there is nothing that can be done, except to put it to sleep."

Terra drew back as Kefka reached for her face. He held it in his hands, studying her features, a finger grazing her skin with such softness that she felt like screaming.

"Hmm, perhaps you wouldn't die…" His fingertips traced the shape of her lips. "No, no one would kill you… but…"

His voice trailed off into the hum of machinery and outside bustle and heavy breathing. Terra's heart pounded fiercely. She felt her pulse running frantically through every vein and artery of her body—pressing! Piercing! Her head spinning and spinning until she found herself in tears. It felt surreal. She never cried. Kefka had fallen into such quiet and stillness as he supported himself on her seat that, for a moment, she thought he might fall to the ground, never to rise back again.

It was all so absurd—so unreasonable!—that she held her breath, hoping the lack of oxygen would wake her up from this horrible dream, hoping she would be back in her room and Kefka would still be lying quietly by her side. But she was already feeling dizzy and the dream stage was still as clear as ever. She did scream when Kefka abruptly straightened up to keep talking, as though that long lapse of silence had been only in her mind—that place where everything was moving in slow motion as if reality had melted with her nightmares.

"You know, the most dangerous thing about this virus is that it's highly contagious. It transmits with amazing ease from one infected individual, to the next one, and the next one." He turned his back away, starting to walk languidly toward the now-open loge. "Experts still haven't found the exact mechanism of contagion, but it would appear that it spreads quickly through the air." He paused to inhale, sharply and ostensibly. "I almost caught it myself, you know… Once. Just once. Long ago. And since then I've worked very hard to strengthen my immune system."

He laughed heartily. Terra took a deep breath, trying to regain her senses as she began to examine the restraints on her seat. Since her natural element was fire, perhaps she could increase her body temperature enough to melt down the metal rings, but if she did so, it would be at the risk of burning herself. If she did it carefully enough, though, she could work in a tiny breach, then heal her wounds and repeat until the cuffs gave way. She could also target Kefka. It would be infinitely easier to aim her magic at him, but also fruitless. Kefka had every possible advantage over her: he could move freely, and therefore he could easily dodge an attack, he could fight back, he could heal himself, and she didn't rule out the possibility that he had come equipped in advance with the relics needed to counteract her magic.

Before she could put any of her plans into practice, Kefka began to approach her again. He was beaming with delight, sunrays pouring over his back.

"Kefka, you…" She glared at him, fear and anguish dissolved into anger. "What are you planning to do to me!?"

"Just cure you, my sweet."

Terra stared at him in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Cure me from what? Cure me with what? This makes no sense!"

Kefka clicked his tongue as he waved a finger. "Forgive me, my dear, but if this was something that could be solved with a measly potion, we would have been done already."

"Whatever is wrong with you, Kefka?"

She sighed, too disheartened to try something against him, though he was at point-blank range, gazing at her face with near-fascination.

"I used to ask myself the same about you," he said, taking her aback as he suddenly spoke in his natural, rough tone of voice. He leaned closer. "…but now I know."

He wasn't playing anymore. He'd never been, she realised now, a lifetime too late.

"What?" she gasped. He circled the seat, jumping to ground level and out of her sight. "What, Kefka? What do you mean?! What!?"

"Too late!" she heard him shout behind her back. "Too late for you! It won't do! It won't help! You're infected by this virus to the core."

_You always played along. _

"Kefka, stop talking nonsense!" She tried to spy behind her seat when her ear caught the signature sound of hinges giving in and the clang of metal on metal as Kefka's relentless steps clattered ever closer on the floor. But even as she tried the slightest movement, she kept colliding with the thick seatback. She jolted back, slamming her head in despair. "Kefka, please!"

_A willing toy from the beginning… _

Kefka was muttering words she couldn't grasp as he strode back. He was carrying something in his hand, she noticed: a metal circlet. Terra could sense an eerie kind of energy radiating from it.

"What's that?" she asked, and the way her voice trembled, she could hardly grasp her own words.

Kefka snickered, lifting the circlet aloft as he climbed the seat platform and reached for her head. "Given that this treatment may result in a little pain, think of this as the required dose of anaesthesia."

Terra watched in horror as the circlet's shadow loomed over her. "Please, don't."

"Once it takes effect, you won't have to listen to that misleading little voice inside your head whispering its evil little lies. And you'll prove its effectiveness by burning those fifty soldiers to death like you did last time with the one. But this time…" He closed his eyes for an instant, breathing her in. "This time it won't hurt, I promise."

He smiled at her, and the gentleness of that smile tore her heart apart. "I told you I'd make the pain go away, didn't I?"

…_and till the very end._

Terra looked down in defeat. When the circlet embraced her forehead, the whispers of her conscience were gone…

And so was the pain.

* * *

**Final notes:** My intention was not to depict Kefka as 'clownish' (god forbid) but rather 'childish'. 'Little old me' was the best equivalent I could think for his Japanese 'bokuchin'.


End file.
